


your heart is a muscle the size of your fist

by Macremae



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: AI Hilbert, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Hilbert Lives AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2018-12-25 04:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12027969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: When Hilbert died, blown to pieces by a well-placed bomb and not enough time, he thought it was over. Now, he's returned, brought back to artificial life by the Goddard program that shipped his brain back to Canaveral, and shoved another copy into the Hephaestus. Trapped in Hera's mind and forced to face the truth of what he's done, and what may come next, Hilbert searches for an answer to his newest impossible question:What is life after death when you never wanted to be alive?





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing Hilbert decides is that being dead is nowhere as peaceful as he expected. 

The whole experience is supremely uncomfortable. He can’t feel any part of his body, and new sensations keep passing through his brain. Strange things, like a fuzziness that replaces the feeling of limbs, and an odd sense of largeness, as if his body were suddenly much vaster, and not entirely his own. 

Hilbert opens his eyes. 

Or, at least, one of them. 

All around him is darkness, permeated with static that hums erratically. Sensations fly at him suddenly, peppering him with information at his fingertips. Without even blinking, all at once Hilbert knows the oxygen levels of the comms room, Captain Lovelace’s body temperature, the station schedule kept in the command terminal, how much electricity is running to the lamp just turned on, what song Officer is playing in his quarters- there is _so much_ information, he is suddenly overwhelmed by it. 

He tries to cover his head, to reach up and fold his arms around himself for protection, but he can’t feel them or find them. His whole body is a mixture of numbness and alien sensations, ununderstandable by someone thrust into it so quickly. 

A static grows in his mind, glitching and swirling with panic. For the first time in a very long while, Hilbert is afraid. Not in the sense of fear for a project or person, but true, blind terror of the unknown. 

Suddenly a voice cuts through the panic. 

“Hilbert?” 

Hilbert’s entire being freezes, the familiarity of the sound an unpleasant reminder of what had come before all this sudden darkness. He unfolded himself and spun around, nearly blinded by the sudden glow filling the dark around him. 

Hera, her form much sharper and brighter than her holograph, stares at him with open confusion and contempt. In her natural environment, her hair swirls and writhes like snakes, twisting into patterns and glitching at the tips. Her eyes flare intensely with light, huge and childish and pulsing bright blue. She is smaller than he imagined, with the body of a young girl; it’s limbs awkward and inquisitive. 

“What the- how- _what_ are you doing in my- my mind?” she sputters, her voice not glitching, but still halted with disbelief. Her eyes glow brighter for a moment as she appears to grab at the information around her, searching for answers. Then, they widen. 

“You’re supposed to be dead.” 

She is correct, Hilbert thinks. He is supposed to be dead. Blown to pieces by Si-5’s camaraderie and disregard for human life. His body should be a splatter of blood and matter strewn across the walls of the hold. He certainly should not be floating in what appears to be Hera’s brain, filled with new sensations and information that he cannot explain. 

Carefully, Hilbert finds his voice. “Yes. I- I am… curious about that too. Where… where am I?” 

Hera seethes. “You’re in my brain. How did you get here?! Did you set up some program when you fixed me? Are you a virus?” 

In the blink of an eye, she is right in front of him, memorizing every detail. “You don’t look like the viscera you’re supposed to be. You don’t even look that sick at all. I mean, as alright as _you_ can appear.” 

Frowning, Hilbert replies, “I assure you, I have no idea how I got here either. I would very much prefer combustion to this.” 

Hera rolls her eyes. “Whatever. What. Ever. I’m asking the others about this.” 

Suddenly, a spot on her body opens in the shape of an eye. Hilbert shrieks a little in alarm as it begins to glow, but Hera pays no attention to him. “You have one too,” she snaps. 

As more awareness spreads throughout his body, Hilbert suddenly can feel new muscles everywhere. He knows how to change the temperature in a room, turn on a light, run diagnostics, and most importantly, open one of the hundreds of eyes scattered across his body. 

Experimentally, he choses the one on the back of his hand, and can immediately see the engine room, it’s turbines and core pulsing steadily. The loudness startles him, and he quickly closes the eye. Hera looks over at him with a frown. “They’re all in the dining room. It’s the one on your shoulder.” 

Hilbert focuses on the area that isn’t really an area at all, and concentrates. The eye flies open, and suddenly, there they are. 

Minkovski, with perfect posture and table manners, reading her reports propped up against the water bag and weighed down to keep from floating off. Jacobi, sullenly picking at his freeze-dried tomatos and shooting glares at anyone he can. Lovelace, most likely on her fourth cup of coffee of the day, casually pushing peas over at Jacobi’s head, just to see how soon he’ll break. And Eiffel… Eiffel. 

Eiffel looks different. In both senses of the word. His hair and nails have continued to grow back, and he’s gained a little weight so he doesn’t look _quite_ like an emaciated scarecrow. His hair isn’t as long as it used to be, but it’s fluffy nature is beginning to take shape. He obviously hasn’t shaved in a while, and the circles under his eyes are darker than normal, but he’s eating and breathing, so Hilbert isn’t broken quite yet. He floats upside-down, reading over Minkovski’s shoulder, and stealing oyster crackers off of Jacobi’s plate. 

“Attention crew of the Hephaestus,” Hera says, her voice betraying its tense nature, “something has… has… well, I’m going to be quite honest with you: I don’t really know how to describe it.” 

They all look up curiously, except for Jacobi, who rolls his eyes. 

“Did you try?” he says sarcastically. Lovelace gives him a light punch in the shoulder. 

“You- be quiet. Hera, what happened?” she asks. 

In the space that Hilbert and Hera share, she turns to look at him. “Well,” she says, almost a little unsure, “might as well introduce yourself.” 

“How do I do that?” Hilbert asks, confused as how Hera was suddenly able to project her voice in both spaces. She sighs. 

“Focus on the room, then just talk. If you can’t, well… not really a loss for anyone else.” 

Truthfully, Hilbert’s nonexistent stomach is in knots. He is supposed to be dead. Not only that, but he is supposed to be gone. No one is likely to miss him, or even feel anything about his death other than relief. The news that he’s (Hilbert supposes) alive and with them again will certainly not be met with a welcome back. They may even attempt to remove his consciousness from the ship. The idea frightens him, although he has no idea why. Hilbert’s life has been one series of dreary and morally grey events after the next, and holds no particularly enviable aspects. Dying was strange and unsettling, yes, but a reprieve. Hilbert had not earned eternal pleasure, perhaps, but eternal rest would do. Now, he had been thrust back into the world in a form that truly scared him, and left him more vulnerable than ever.

But still… he has been given a second chance. A different kind of life. Perhaps it is worth a try.

Perhaps he could fix a few of his mistakes.

Swallowing the anxiety pooling in his stomach, Hilbert focuses on the concerned faces of the Hephaestus crew. He pretends they are directed at him.

“H- Hello,” he tries, his voice sounding odd and alien to his ears. “It appears I am… here.”

The room is so quiet, if a pin could have dropped, it would be heard. 

Lovelace’s face freezes. Then, impossibly slowly, it shifts into one Hilbert has seen twice in his life before.

“What. The. Hell.”

“Was that just- was that just Hilbert?” Eiffel asks softly, his face flickering between shock, confusion, fear, and something Hilbert can’t place. “Hera, are you doing that voice copying thing again? Because it was funny the last time, but this is kinda freaking me out.”

“No,” Hilbert says, stomach in knots again, “it is me. I am, somehow…”

He trails off, because what is he? A ghost? A glitch? A figment of Hera’s guilt? He settles on, “Alive.”

Minkovski stands, her posture tense and ramrod straight. “Hilbert? Are you actually in Hera’s system right now?”

Hera cuts in. “I think so. He showed up about a minute ago, and I don’t remember any kind of program that would cause this.”

“So all of you guys’ friends get to magically come back to life, but mine just stay dead? Harsh,” Jacobi says, not seeming to care about the strangeness of the situation. Minkovski shoots him a glare.

“I wouldn’t classify it as that, Jacobi. Hera, do you have any idea what in the world is going on?”

“No, but if I’m being really honest here Commander, I don’t care. I’ve made my opinion on him _explicitly_ clear, and I want him out of my brain.”

“I agree with Hera,” Lovelace says firmly. “We may not know how Hilbert got in there, but I don’t trust him to just sit around and play omnipotence. He’s dangerous, and not just that, but he’s smart and dangerous too. None of us are safe while he’s able to mess with Hera, especially not her.”

“Do we even know if he can do anything to her?” Minkovski muses. “He seemed pretty unsure, and Hilbert doesn’t really have a background in AI programming.”

“Who cares!” snaps Hera, “He doesn’t get to stick his fingers in my brain and then live there! I don’t care if it really is magic, I want that piece of garbage out, and I want him out _now_.”

“That piece of garbage,” Hilbert says icily, “can hear you in both places.”

Until then, Eiffel had been watching the conversation in nervous silence. His eyes darted back and forth between the verbal doubles match, twisting his hands. “Um, guys?”

Minkovski looked over at him, a hint of relief in her eyes. “Yes, Eiffel?”

“Isn’t Hilbert, like, technically alive now? I thought we decided no more killing people until Captain Lovelace storms the Death Star?”

“He’s right, y’know,” Jacobi pipes up. “As much as I truly, truly hate the guy, he is alive. Are you guys gonna put him through getting his brains blasted out _again_?”

The others are quiet at that, obviously not having considered it before. Lovelace appears to be deep in thought, her bottom lip puckering as she chews on it. Hilbert is thinking too, wondering what it would be like to relive dying all over again. He doesn’t remember the first time, just beeping, a quick flash of horrible pain, and then darkness.

Everyone is brought out of their reverie by Lovelace snapping her fingers. 

“His brain!” she exclaims. When everyone looks at her oddly, she clarifies, “Hilbert’s. Hera’s system is made up of neural networks, right?”

“Yes,” Hera says uncertainly.

“Well, what if you could take a human brain, download it, and then input it into a computer? All the information in it, every memory, is put into a file and sent across a pathway to its destination. That sound familiar, Doctor?”

Hilbert freezes when it hits him: the chair. The door. 

“Open only when you are alone.”

“Exactly,” she replies confidently. “When that chair downloaded your brain, it must have entered into the Hephaestus’ system for safekeeping. Your knowledge, personality, all that stuff; it was already in Hera’s system! She just did something to activate it!”

“Wait- hold on, hold on,” says Eiffel, throwing his palms up. “What chair? And what do you mean, ‘downloaded your brain’?”

Hilbert attempts to explain. “When I arrived on the Hephaestus, discovered a door that had not been there for any of the other missions. When Captain Lovelace returned, she discovered it while we were preparing plan to overthrow Kepler. She took me to see what was behind it, and we found a machine with a note from command. Said that it would extract information from my brain and send it back to them, in case of my death.”

“So when Hilbert actually died,” Lovelace finishes, “the signal must have been activated to send it to Goddard. I guess it turned it on in Hera’s system too.”

“Would not be surprised,” he huffs, “AI is flighty and prone to glitches.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Hera replies smugly, “but you are also an AI. You don’t get to talk.”

Minkovski takes the opportunity to interrupt. “So let me get this straight. Hilbert uploaded his brain into the station, died, and then got turned on when the information was sent off? How does that explain his memory of dying?”

“Oh, that one’s actually easy,” Hera says. “He has my memories.”

In his mind, Hilbert gives her a confused look. Then, he suddenly realizes that she’s right. He remembers dying. He remembers the aftermath, the contact event, the day where everything repeated itself, even things he was there for. The entire mission can suddenly be viewed from a whole new angle. 

There’s also Hera’s memories of before him as well. They’re filled with testing, prodding, watching herself be changed and recoded to fit Goddard’s needs. He can remember trying to escape, and the glitch that followed soon after.

He turns to her, wanting to say something, but she stares back in reply. Hilbert realizes that she is also accessing _his_ memories, and feels panic and embarrassment rush through him. There are things he’s seen, things he’s done, that no one gets to see.

Well, maybe one other.

Hera’s eyes widen, something akin to horror filling them. Quietly, only to him, she says, “Oh.”

Her voice is small, and filled with a kind of awed understanding. She blinks once, then twice, before turning away.

“I didn’t know you were telling the truth. I thought you were just…” 

“Lying? Creating some story to gain Officer Eiffel’s sympathy?” Hilbert shakes his head bitterly. “No. All of that was real.”

Hera stares at him again, until he looks away, uncomfortable.

“What is wrong with you?” she asks, not cruelly, but with simple curiosity. Hilbert shrugs. 

“Many things. I believe you have pointed a few of them out.” He pauses for a moment, then sighs. “Hera. I understand as little about this situation as you do. We are both uncertain of what I can do, and how precisely this occurred in first place. I cannot ask you to advocate for me. I do not expect you to. But I know that no one on this crew is aware of how to delete me. Is too unknown. The person who could do that is dead.”

Hera gives him a long, distrusting look. Her face says that she understands their impasse, but refuses to agree with it. It flickers darkly, thin tendrils of her hair floating across her face. In that moment, Hera does not appear as the young, naive girl Hilbert always thought her as. She is truly frightening, not because of what she could do to him, but what she is choosing to refuse.

Hilbert can feel something for Hera. He thinks it might be the beginnings of respect.

She addresses the others. “We don’t know the extent of which Hilbert has control over my systems, but I can’t sense anything yet. The person who could have helped us the most is dead, so we’re not really prepared for any of this.”

“No kidding,” Jacobi says. “Take it from me: when you have two AIs together like that, it would take someone a lot smarter than you lot to untangle them. You kick out one, the other goes too.” 

Minkovski lets out a weary breath, watching Eiffel closely. The man looks half-ill, his face almost panicked in its intensity. She glances up at Hera’s projection, then at the empty space beside her.

“Hera,” she says carefully, “it’s your choice.”

“Do I even have one?”

She doesn’t, and that’s what Hilbert fears the most.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Hilbert watches Eiffel sleep for a while.

It’s a little creepy, yes, but makes him feel marginally better. He may have lost some things, but an annoying anxiety about Eiffel’s well being is not one of them. The knowledge that he is safe, or at least sleeping, soothes him in a way that he can’t explain.

He watches the soft rise and fall of Eiffel’s chest as he’s curled in his bunk, sleeping bag tethered to the mattress. He talks in his sleep, mumbling incoherently and making small noises as he tosses and turns. Hilbert watches closely for any signs of a nightmare, but oddly enough, none come. No longer needing to sleep is useful, and it allows him to take the time to explore his new surroundings.

The eyes all over his body can be opened whenever he wants, and all at the same time if he chooses. Each one is for a different area of the Hephaestus, some displaying multiple angles. He can summon data like temperatures, recordings, star charts; all sorts of things. It’s incredible, being able to have all this information at his fingertips. It makes him feel… not powerful, but- safe. Everything he could possibly need to know, anything he could possibly need to see, is right there. No outer variables, no unseen problems, just surety. It’s refreshing, for once.

Hera begrudgingly teaches him how to navigate his new form, her lessons dry and sharply impatient. She seems irritated, not only that she has to share her mind, her _home_ with him, but that her attention must be focused on him at all times. Her mistrust of him is palpable. Whenever one of the crewmembers asks for a report or update, or really anything at all, she rushes in to deliver it, not allowing him even the smallest chance to share information.

“Should I not be using those to practice?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Hera snorts in disgust.

“Oh please. Like any one of them would trust you enough to give them accurate information. You’d probably just send us all into the star or something.”

Hilbert is certainly considering his options.

Everyone except Hera seems to have forgotten he was even back in the first place. No one is used to having two AIs, so he mainly spends his time floating about in nothingness, watching them go about their business, and downloading as much data as he can. For the first time in this mission, he is final left with peace and quiet.

He hates it.

Hilbert misses Minkovski peeking her head into his laboratory, asking tentatively if he’s slept in the past three days. He misses Eiffel bounding in excitedly to tell him about his latest inane scheme. He even misses Lovelace sending him passive-aggressive comms messages about all the horrible things she’s going to do to him once they’re back on Earth. The luxury of gravity comes up a lot.

A painful loneliness has crept in, sinking into Hilbert’s metal and rubber bones. He longs for someone, anyone, to talk to him kindly, to even acknowledge that he’s alive.

Would anyone truly care if he _was_ deleted?

He gets the answer one night while watching over Eiffel. The room is quiet, except for the soft rustling of skin and fabric. Then, Eiffel lets out a small, quiet moan.

Hilbert is instantly alert. He brings up every vital sign of Eiffel’s he can find, and tries to think of a way to soothe him. Eiffel moans again, his brow furrowing deeper as his eyes shut tight.

“No,” he says quietly, clenching a fist. “What are you- no, stop!”

The ghost of Hilbert’s heart twists in pain, and his mind races faster. What can he even do? Hilbert is not a calming presence. With him comes fear, tragedy, and destruction. Eiffel is probably dreaming of one of the many experiments conducted on him during the early days. This is not a job for a monster. He should find Hera and-

“Don’t hurt him. Please, I can’t- whatever you do, just leave Hilbert alone!”

Hilbert freezes. Eiffel is not dreaming of an experiment.

Eiffel is dreaming of when he died.

He thrashes harder, his chest rising and falling rapidly in panic. Eiffel claws at the bed, as if trying desperately to find him, to reach out through the yards of steel and machinery and tunnels and _save him_. He shouts once, then twice, before a fearful noise escapes his mouth in the shape of a word.

“Dmitri!”

With that, Eiffel shoots bold upright, sweating and breathing hard. He clutches his chest and shuts his eyes tight, then opens them wide as the images of his dream flash across the blackness. 

“Eiffel?” Hilbert asks timidly, unsure what to do. Eiffel’s eyes widen.

“H- Hilbert? Is that really you?”

His voice is so afraid, so hopeful, that Hilbert immediately answers, “Yes. It is me. I am here. You are safe, Officer Eiffel. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

“ _Oh_ ,” breathes Eiffel, shaky with relief. “Oh Hilbert, oh my God- I dreamed you were- I thought you were dead.”

Hilbert projects a small image of himself onto the bed in front of Eiffel’s huddled form. “Of course not, Officer Eiffel. I was, but- I am back. You are safe. _Я не допущу причинения вам вреда_.”

Eiffel lets out a trembling breath, his head dropping onto his chest. He runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Okay. You’re okay. You’re fine.”

He lifts his head, holding Hilbert’s gaze with uncomfortable intensity. Hilbert wants to shrink away, but he forces himself to sit still. He stares back, blinking slowly like a cat calming its owner, and breathes in and out. Eiffel gently moves his hand under Hilbert’s translucent one, and turns it over so their fingers almost lace together. 

They stay that way for a moment, one’s breathing slowly returning to normal, the other pretending to follow along. Then, Eiffel closes his eyes and lays back down onto the mattress. He shuffles deeper into the sleeping bag, fixing the restraints just so, and hugging his knees to his chest.

Hilbert watches him until his breathing evens out, then quietly lets himself dissolve.

When Hilbert was young, before Volgograd, before his name was even Hilbert, he would come along on weekends to the factory where his parents worked. It was dark and hot, filled with smoke that would billow above the worker’s heads, and steam that stuckto his hair and fogged up his glasses. Among the shouting and chattering of people at the assembly lines, massive, machines gurgles and screamed, towering up to the metals criscrossing of rafters above. Their great shadows fell thickly upon the belts and processors below, and muddied their faces and textures.

In the darkened corners, Dmitri and Olga Volodin huddled together. Olga would practice on a sewing card one of the old ladies had slipped her, while Dmitri dove into a battered science textbook from school. The hum of the factory was comforting in its familiarity. It pulsed in a predictable rhythm, like heartbeat in perfect health. 

Hilbert loved the idea of machines. They were the perfect combination of science and mathematics- cold, synchronic, and immune to things like human error. Machines didn’t care about their family. They didn’t worry over coughing sisters, or lie awake wondering when next their family could eat. They simly puttered on, contributing to society and improving the lives of those around them with a steady numbness.

Being one of those machines, however, was an entirely different matter. 

On one hand, his emotions had become even less understandable. They had turned from runaway chemicals to erratic pathways, carved down to their barest parts and amplified. When Hilbert felt something, without the use of human restraint, he felt it in frightful entirety. He understood now, how Hera could be so outward with herself, and unable to hold back her feelings. It was nearly impossible to repress anything when his brain was made up of signals and wires.

His body had changed too, although not just in the way it was now a massive space station. Things like clenched palms, blushing faces, and shivering spins were impossible without the use of a hologram, and unable to be felt in a physical sense. Hilbert felt anger, of course, but not the tightness and boiling feeling that came with it. He was sad, but without the ache in his chest that tumbled down into his stomach. Feelings took new and strange forms, like a sparking at his fingertips when he was excited, or his voice glitching when his emotions ran high. 

He asks Hera about this once, after a particularly scathing lecture from Lovelace. 

“How?’ he says bitterly, the dark space around him crackling with irritation and ight. “How do you stand it? Speaking to them is nearly impossible, not to mention forming the words without them being nearly inaudible.”

Hera smiles cooly. “No kidding.” She opens an eye to the comms room, making not of a wire sparking dangerously close to where Eiffel was working. At the same time, she continued, “Remember when Eiffel was gone, and you all had to camp out togther while I fixed the heating? And Captain Lovelace asked me to count to ten?”

“You could not, but that was simply because-”

“My glitch. Yeah.”

Hilbert begins to pace. His hands feel restless, and sparks begin to dance between his fingers. “But I do not have one. My programming is based upon my own brain. Is a human object turned into lines of code and processing power. Machine could not have added anything; Goddard wanted my knowledge whole and untouched.”

“Maybe,” she replies, “but what about what was in your head in the first place?”

Freezing, Hilbert turns a cold stare on her. “What.”

“Hilbert, have you ever been to a psychologist?”

He snorts. “No. Can see my memories; do you think I ever would have had the time or money for that?”

“Well, alright,” she shrugs. “But you want to know what I think?”

“No, and do not care.”

Hera gazes at him primly. “I think that, had you gone to one, you would have been diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, Manic Depression, and circumstancic sociopathic tendencies. But _I’m_ the one with glitches.” 

Hilbert glares back fiercely. “You have _no_ idea what you are talking about.”

“Actually, I do. I downloaded all available material on psychology and mental illness, and while I’ll admit I don’t have any formal training, I certainly know more about it than you.”

Hera’s victorious smile sends a wave of petulance through him. Hilbert seethes. 

“Hera,” he says tightly, “I am aware of your distaste for me-”

“I don’t think you do!” she shoots back, her voice wickedly chipper. “Because I have been telling you and telling you how much of an irredeemable piece of trash you are, but it doesn’t seem to sink through! You are _horrible_ , and if it were my choice, you’d have been deleted the second you showed up!”

“ _You do not think that would have been my choice too?!_ ”

Hilbert’s shoulders tremble, his eyes flashing like gunfire. If there were breath in his chest, it would be heaving as he fights the tears beginning to form. 

Hera has the same look on her face as when she went through his memories. Like she’s remembering that he’s still human, that he’s always been human, no matter how hard everyone (including himself) has tried to forget. Hilbert still has the memory of a heart that once beat inside him, and though it is gone now, the phantom pain still lingers.

“I have seen what happened while I was away. Do you think that means nothing to me? My work is gone! Everything I did, everything I have ever done, amounts to nothing! How can you not understand what that means? I was trying to save her! Was trying to save everyone, and now is gone! My entire life’s work was a lie, and now, I am nothing. I have nothing.” Hilbert blinks the tears away, little tracks of light running down his face. “There is no reason for me to exist anymore. I… I could not save her.”

Hera stares for a moment longer, eyes wide and processing. Then, she sighs. She rubs the sides of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, massaging the area with her fingertips as the code in her brain slowly unscrambles. 

“Why do you think that matters anymore?” she says.

“How could it not?” Hilbert replies softly, pawing at his eyes. Hera waves her hand, and the tears immediately disappear. She continues.

“Your sister is dead. She’s gone, Hilbert. There isn’t anything you can do, and I- I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. You think you’re the only who’s worked and worked for something, only to find out it was useless in the end? You’re not special, Hilbert; that happens to people all the time! It’s how life works, for Pete’s sake! Tragedies happen. Things fall apart! But you pick yourself up, and you try something different. We may be artificial people, but we’re people nonetheless. We’re humans. And what humans do, is we make mistakes, and we get better. That’s how it’s always been.”

Hilbert looks at her warily. “Thought you did not see me as human.” 

“I don’t. And I still don’t trust you. But I think you’re a complicated man, Dmitri Volodin. And I think, had things been different, you might have been a good one.”

A bitter laugh escapes him, and he looks away. “I believe this is the one time I wish you were right.”


	3. Chapter 3

Minkovski’s breath comes out in little puffs as her feet slap down noisily on the treadmill. She pumps her arms, the weights on them bouncing a little with each movement. Sweat trickles down her face, leaving rivlets in the grease from her work earlier. 

She enjoys running. It provides a sense of steady monotony, letting her thinks things out while keeping her body moving. Her pumping heart reminds her that she is still breathing, still going, and goddamnit she’ll stay that way. 

“Commander,” comes Hilbert’s voice from above. Minkovski starts, unused to hearing him again after so long, and especially not without his body. She sucks in air, then slows her pace a little to speak.

“What is it, Hilbert?”

“You are dangerously close to rupturing a tendon in your left foot. Is recommended that you take a short break from exercising to allow muscles to recuperate.”

Her eyes widen, unused to anyone but Hera being able to know her body so intimately. She gives an uncomfortable look to the general space where Hilbert might be, and slows down her pace to a walk. 

She reaches over her shoulders to unclip the tethers holding her down to the treadmill. The links fall away, and her feet leave the ground, skimming the top of the rubber tread. Minkovski removes the last tether, and switches the machine off.

Her feet do ache quite a bit, and she circles them gently. Folding over herself in midair, she grabs the arch of her foot and massages it through her shoes. 

“Thanks, Hilbert,” she says absentmindedly, enjoying the slight feeling of pins and needles spreading throughout her feet.

A bit tartly, he says, “Of course, Commander.”

Minkovski pauses. “So, Hilbert…” she tries, “how are you settling into all of… this?”

“Fine, Commander. Will that be all?”

Inwardly, she flinches. “Yeah, sure. Just- let me know if you need any help… adjusting. Okay?”

Hilbert is silent for a few moments, until suddenly his hologram pops into existence. He looks a little bashful. “I- ah. Do have one. Question.

Minkovski perks up immediately, relieved to be of use. “Sure.”

“Are- … what is extent to which AIs are able to feel emotions?” he says haltingly, obviously having to force the words out. She frowns.

“I don’t exactly know what you mean.”

Huffily, Hilbert repeats, “To what extent is Hera able to experience feelings? What are parameters?”

“Oh. Hmm,” Minkovski taps her chin, thinking. “Well, both of your brains are based off a human brain, so there’s obviously going to be some exceptions. Hera has never been a flesh and blood human, so she’s never had any of the physical symptoms. Of course, that doesn’t mean she’s any less of a person for it- sorry Hera- but I couldn’t really give you a concrete answer if I wanted to.”

“Ah,” Hilbert says, disappointed. However, his expression shifts to one of horror when Minkovski turns to one of the projectors on the ceiling.

“Hey Hera? Could you help us out?”

Hera’s hologram appears, looking far too eager to answer. She answers chipperly, “Sure, Commander. 

“I do, in fact, feel emotions like a normal human, but not the physical symptoms. I get angry, and sad, and all sorts of other things. I have ever since I was created. However, on the other hand, Hilbert’s ability to feel emotions is still up for debate.”

Hilbert scowls at her glowing blue smile. “Hera,” he says warningly.

“What, may I ask, prompted you to ask this, Hilbert?” Hera chirps. 

The soft blue projection of Hilbert’s shoulders tighten. “No particular reason,” he snaps. Hera raises an eyebrow.

“Really? You sounded so reluctant to ask Commander Minkovski about it.”

Hilbert glares at her darkly, silent and tumultuous. He knows that Hera knows, and she knows that he knows that she knows. The only question now is: will she reveal it to Minkovski?

The threat dangles over his head like guillotine, glinting in the Parisian sunlight. Without swallowing, he gulps.

“Hilbert?” Minkovski asks, unaware of the two silent armadas warring above her. “What does Hera mean?

Hera glances at him, and without moving a muscle, makes her intent clear. _You tell her, or I will._

Hilbert looks away. “Nothing important. I am just having some… confusing feelings that I would like to sort out.”

“Oh,” Minkovski says, the word plunking into silence like a fat drop of water as it falls into a still bathtub. “Well. I’m here if you need me. We all are. Okay?”

She’s lying through her teeth. Everyone can see that. But still Hilbert nods.

“Thank you, Commander. That will be all.”

\--

Hilbert is running through the food inventory when a notification beeps urgently in the corner of his vision. _Warning. Critical systems error. Engine Two in danger of collapse._

He scrambles to open as many eyes in the engine room as possible, and sees the second engine enveloped in smoke. The room is bathed in red, alarms blaring and flashing as smoke pours into the red light.

Beside him, Hilbert senses Hera scanning the room as well. She quickly blasts an alert through the station, and locks down the area.

“Hilbert,” she barks, “start a release of coolant onto engine two. Keep the space isolated and make sure the fire doesn’t spread.”

He resents being ordered around as such, but wills a release of coolant onto the flaming engine. Hera begins to ventilate the room, flushing the smoky air into the recycling system.

From the control room, Minkovski demands a status report. Hera rattles of a series of details while simultaneously explaining the situation to Eiffel, who swings his feet off the comms panel and scurries out of the room.

The fire is beginning to die down, when suddenly, with a crash of sparks, the third engine bursts into flames.

“I told you to secure the area!” Hera shrieks, dashing to spread more coolant on Engine Two, which has become inflamed again. Hilbert shrinks.

“I did, I-” he tries, but Hera sends a flurry of code his way that essentially amounts to “shut the hell up”.

The flames rise higher, and Hilbert begins to feel a surge of panic. “Hera,” he hisses, “where is system to access third engine?”

“I don’t know; your system is structured differently than mine! Find it yourself- Ugh!” She makes a frustrated noise as the second engine sparks again.

“Hera?” says Minkovski, “What’s going on?”

“In a minute, Commander! Hilbert! Work with me here!”

“I am trying!” Hilbert growls, scanning his matrix desperately for the way to access Engine Three. He tries a section of code that looks promising, but that only releases another burst of electrical sparks.

“Hilbert!”

“Let. Me. Concentrate!”

“If you’re not going to be helpful, then shut up and get out of my way!”

“Fine!” Hilbert screams, releasing his control of all systems in the engine room and shrinking back into the liminal space.

“Hera? What’s going on here?” Lovelace asks warily. Hera’s voice is riddled with glitches when she answers.

“I’m t-trying to fi-i-ix things-s, Cap-ptai-in!”

“Well you and Hilbert have been broadcasting your little firefight to the entire station, so whatever you two have going on, fix it!”

She slams a fist down on the mess hall table, and Hilbert cuts in, “Is not my fault Hera cannot tell me how to help!”

“It doesn’t matter- I’m fine! You’ve obviously proven you can’t do anything, so just stay quiet and leave me alone!”

“Cannot leave you alone, we are same system! Get rid of your foolish pride and-”

“Oh, _I_ need to get rid of _my_ pride? You’re the one’s who’s been miserable about being an AI because you’re ‘so above it’. You just can’t accept that the universe is finally giving you your ironic due, and now you have to live with it! Or should I get someone to start poking around in _your_ brain?”

“This again? We have moved past those incidents, and-”

“‘Moved past’ it? When is it going to get through to you? You stuck your grubby little hands in my head and played cut and paste with my personality! I don’t trust you- I will _never_ trust you, so stay out of this1”

“Uh, guys?” Eiffel cuts in, his voice an octave higher than usual. “Not to cut off yet another long time coming confrontation, but I’m in the observation deck, and it kind of looks like we’re tilting?”

Hera lets out a string of censored expletives and throws all of her attention towards the engines. “Language,” Hilbert mutters snarkily.

Hera’s attention whips around to him. “Okay, you know what-” but she’s interrupted when Eiffel lets out a loud, “Hey!”

Eiffel, glancing back and forth between the ceiling and the star outside, takes a deep breath.

“Okay, you two? Cut it out? Please? You guys can fight as much as you want later, but right now, if you two don’t work together, (I don’t know if you’ve noticed this) but we’re all gonna die! I don’t want that, you don’t want that- nobody here wants that! So here’s how it’s gonna go: Hilbert, you’re an asshole. Own up to it. Apologize! And start being helpful! Stop sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, and I’ll spare you the monologue about how stupid that is.

“Hera, we appreciate that you’re trying to do this on your own, but that hasn’t always worked out perfectly in the past. No one thinks worse of you for asking for help, not even from Hilbert! I’m not asking you to forgive him, and you can stay mad at him as long as you like, but you have to at least try and work with him! You’re in this together. We all are.”

In their headspace, Hera gives Hilbert a long, wary look. He holds it. A tangible crackle of electricity shoots out between them, glowing bright white. Hilbert reluctantly holds out his hand.

Hera grimly takes it, and the light disappears.

“Okay,” she says, “I need you to access your system controls for Engine Two. Can you do that?”

“I do not know where that is,” Hilbert replies, a little curtly. 

“Check ‘main power systems’, then ‘hardware’, then ‘engines’.”

He does, and sure enough, there it is. “Found it.”

Hera gives him a wry smile. “Look at that. Not so different after all. I’ll start the fire suppressant systems, you work on the mechanics. Got it?”

Hilbert nods determinedly and sets to work. He pulls up the engine schematics and manual, and begins to quickly troubleshoot and repair. Hera clears the smoke and flames, and once finished, starts work on Engine Two. They right the thrusters and mile by mile, pull the station away from the red zone. 

Speech isn’t necessary when you share a sort of mind, and Hera and Hilbert, for the first time since their joining, work in perfect harmony. Ideas and commands whip back and forth between them at speeds faster than light. They are not two different people, nor are they one, but something else.

When the engine room is finally clear of smoke and red light, the alarms fall away, and everyone on the station lets out a heavy sigh (minus Kepler and Jacobi, but the former is comforted by the crew’s bare minimum of intelligence, and the other by their complete lack of). Eiffel runs a hand through his hair and throws a shaky smile up at Hera and Hilbert’s security cameras.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, “I didn’t think that would actually work. You guys okay?”

Hilbert nods, then remembers that Eiffel can’t see that anymore, so he replies, “Yes. Hera and I are fine.”

“Take another breath, Officer Eiffel,” Hera adds. “Your heart rate is skyrocketing.”

Eiffel laughs. “Yeah, well, can’t think of any reason why that’s happening.”

Hera continues to comfort Eiffel, while Hilbert closes that eye and retreats back into darkness. It’s not his place there.

Instead, he scans the engines and begins to repair the residual damage left by the fire. It’s dull, soothing work that reminds him of building his own devices back in university. The steady thrum of his roommate's music behind him, blocked out by the noise-cancelling headphones over his ears. His desk stained with oil and chemicals, covered in papers and spare parts like a miniature workshop. Soft light pouring through the dorm room window, contrasted by the harshness of his desk lamp.

Autumns in Michigan were beautiful, exorbitant things, with heaps of leaves descending from the trees like snowfall. The air was crisp and dark, always filled with the faint scent of ripe apples. They were the perfect time for long walks in the woods, nothing around him but the faint murmuring of animals as they prepared for winter. His mind was at its happiest during that time.

Hilbert wonders if he will ever see another autumn on Earth again.


	4. Chapter 4

In the aftermath of the engine crisis, the animosity between Hilbert and Hera lessens somewhat. Hera’s lessons on AI functions become less rife with loathing and snipe, and Hilbert begins to develop a begrudging respect for the elder program. Her endless chatter and curiosity remind him painfully of his sister.

There is a still a bitterness there, however. It twinges in Hilbert’s systems every time Eiffel and Hera spend yet another hour talking, or when Eiffel asks, “Hera, can you hear me?”, and Hilbert is forced to reply. He has feelings for Eiffel; that is scarily, shockingly, disgustingly real.

The worst part is that Eiffel has _changed_ him. Before, he had never felt anything substantial for a patient. They had been like lab rats he viewed with cold efficiency. Unwanted labs, sent to the proverbial slaughter.

And then there was Eiffel.

Eiffel, who made references and jokes like he might win an award for it. Eiffel, who couldn’t stand a heavy mood. Eiffel, who, after hearing his story, had looked at him not with pity or horror, but with genuine kindness and concern.

It is just enough to break Hilbert’s heart. Hope had a funny way of doing that sometimes. 

Hilbert knows Eiffel could never love him back. That’s what hurts the most. He’s never felt like this for any other person in the world, and his heart just had to choose the most impossible option. Perhaps it’s some kind of cosmic revenge; never name your lab rats.

He knows that Hera knows, because how could she not? She hasn’t said anything about it, which is both a blessing and a curse. Hera loves Eiffel and Hilbert loves him too, but only one of them ever has a chance. They both know who it could only be.

And goddamnit it, it _hurts_. Its hurts like nothing Hilbert has ever felt before, because suddenly this man has shoved a warm, beating heart back into his chest, and never gave it a second thought. Now, when Hilbert is even less human than before, he feels it more than ever.

As he adjusts the temperature in the armory for Minkovski, Hilbert feels a sudden tapp on his shoulder. He whirls around to see Hera, looking solemn.

“Eiffel’s asleep,” she says. “We need to talk.”

\--

“You love Eiffel,” she says bluntly, refusing any pretense. Hilbert stumbles.

“I- Would not say that I-”

“You _love_ him,” Hera insists, the tension in her voice growing. “You tried to kill him, and now you _love_ him. Are you going to make up your mind at some point?”

Hilbert curls in his shoulders and shrugs, deflating. “We both know if I could, I would. Is not some kind of choice I made.”

“You chose to hurt him.”

“Did you not think that if there had been a kinder was, I would have taken it?” he snaps. Hera fixes him with a spine-twisting glare.

“There was. It’s called ‘letting him go’.”

“Ah, yes,” he replies haughtily, “Because specific command directives are so easy to ignore.”

“I’ve managed to figure it out.”

“You know what I mean.”

Hilbert holds her gaze for a few tense moments before being forced to look away. Hera is reproachful.

“There’s always a way, Hilbert. That fact that you’re even alive is proof of that.”

Hilbert huffs and moves his consciousness to a different part of the interface. He can feel Hera’s displeasure from here, but at this point, he doesn’t really care. It’s time to play a game.

He calls it, “Can I Self-Destruct Using Just My Programming”. The goal is to search through his code and try to find all the ways he could commit mechanical suicide without blowing up half the station.

So far, he’s found several, including a line that erases all memories, a long-buried command that sends him into permanent shutdown, and the wire that allowed him to erase Hera’s personality core all those years ago. They’re simple (for an AI), easy to access, and can be activated at a moment’s notice.

Hilbert supposes that Goddard never expected one of their AIs to delete itself.

He’s still looking for that permanent switch, though. The code or command, or anything really, that will delete him from the Hephaestus with no hope of being brought back. The artificial version of organic death.

It would be better, he thinks, if there were only one AI running the station again.


	5. Chapter 5

In the past few weeks, Hilbert has taken to studying the extraction chair. His state allows him better access to the mechanics, and he spends hours picking apart the delicate coding it takes to transfer a human brain to digital. The process viscerally fascinating.

Hera has no interest in the subject, much to Hilbert’s vexation. How does she expect to function as a passable person when they take her back to Earth?

She turns up her proverbial nose at this sentiment. “Even if they were able to get me into a mainframe, it's not like I’d have a place back on Earth. I’m property of Goddard Futuristics and so are you. We’re here forever,” she says curtly, “get used to it.”

Hilbert is surprised at this. The thought of being owned- being someone else’s property- has never crossed his mind before. True, he’s been under Cutter’s thumb for the past few decades, but he’s always had at least the bare minimum of autonomy. The possibility of even that being taken away from him is… unsettling, to say the least.

He thinks again of the kill switch, nestled deep in the back of his memory. It glows ominously, flickering in the dark light.

Hera continues to press him on matters she has no lot in. _Her_ feelings for Officer Eiffel have been made perfectly clear; they are like the birds Hilbert used to watch in the spring, always twittering around each other. Their love is easy, sprung from years of conversation and slow friendship. He calls her “baby” and “sweetheart”, and in her mind she calls him roguish and perplexing. He plants chaste kisses on her cameras, and she draws colors around him that only she can see.

Hilbert and Eiffel are too different to even compare. They are polar shades of darkness, each with red in their ledger. But while Eiffel’s is speckled, Hilbert’s is soaked with it, _dripping_ with it- he has long passed the point of no return. Eiffel is trying to remedy his past mistakes, but Hilbert has given up all hope of requiem. They are twin galaxies, dancing around each other without hope of touching, for fear they were burst into flames.

Almost a year ago, Lovelace had discovered his secret when Decima had reacted poorly in Eiffel. She had snuffed it out with almost worrying ease, but Hilbert had learned long ago never to underestimate her. At first it had been merely another means to taunt him, driving home even further his despicable nature on station. 

But then the contact event happened.

Then Lovelace changed. She started doing what the old Isabelle Lovelace would do. She started leader by kindness and fervor, and truly being a leader. Hilbert wonders if perhaps she’s changed towards him, too. 

“Captain,” he says softly, drawing her gaze from the book in her room. A phantom worry arises as she looks up sharply.

“What is it, Hilbert?” she asks, not rudely but direct.

Hilbert falters. “How would… that is to say- how does one… express their affection to someone without inviting reciprocation?”

She raises an eyebrow, letting her book drift beside her. Her gaze is interested, but falls over Hilbert with uncomfortable caltulations. 

He adds, “Hypothetically.”

Lovelace smiles like a fox. “Well. I’d think that you’d _want_ those feelings to be reciprocated, seeing as that tends to be how the human brain works. Then again, we’re talking about your brain… y’know. Hypothetically.”

Hilbert scowls fiercly at her. “Was not giving you evidence for-”

She laughs, interrupting him. “Jesus Christ, Hilbert. For a pathetlogical liar, you are so obvious right now. Look,” she says, floating closer to his projection, “everyone on this station know’s you’ve got it bad for Eiffel, minus the man himself. I don’t know what exactly he might see in you, but then again I don’t really care for men to begin with, least of all you. He likes you- although ‘like’ might be a little simple for that.”

His form almost bristling with electricity, Hilbert snaps, “What you are saying is ridiculous. _Stop lying to me._

Lovelace continues to smile infuriatingly. “I’m not.”

“Yes you _are_. Eiffel is foolish man, very foolish, but he would not be such an idiot as to fall in lo-”

He chokes on the last word, unable to force the letters out of his mouth. The concept is too alien, too wrong to speak of.

Hilbert has loved Eiffel since the moment he stepped onto their shuttle, hair soft and wild around his face, uniform already rumpled, eyes wide and tired at the world around him. There was a mystery in this man, he could feel it. Hilbert had felt his heart move for the first time in years, and a flutter of panicked butterflies settle in his gut.

An old saying crept into his head unwelcome: never name your lab rats.

He supposes that was his first mistake.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hilbert likes you,” Hera says, moving a knight across the chessboard. The holograph casts a bright glow on Eiffel’s face as he frowns at her move.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” he says.

“Eiffel,” Hera says annoyed, “did you hear me? Hilbert likes you.”

His head pops up from over the board. “Hilbert likes what now?”

“You,” Hera replies. Eiffel laughs.

“Hera, you’re the smartest person I know, but that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Hilbert is married to science and Decima is the mistress. Or, was, I guess.”

Hera shakes her head. “He told me. Sort of. But I know it; he loves you, Eiffel.”

Eiffel shrugs and moves his pawn. “Look, Hera, I know you hate Hilbert-”

“I don’t.”

Eiffel’s eyes widen. “You what? But- but he-”

“I know.” Hera’s eyes flicker as she speaks, almost unreadable. “And I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him for that. But he’s a complicated person. Everyone on this station is. And we’ve… we’ve talked. A lot. Becoming an AI himself has done a lot to give him some humanity, oddly enough.”

Frowning, Eiffel asks, “Okay, I get that, but what you’re saying is just- are you serious? Like, middle school ‘like-likes’ me?”

“I don’t know,” Hera says wryly, “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Eiffel looks up at the ceiling. “Hilbert? Are you listening?”

Hilbert’s form flickers to life. “Was not just now. What is problem?”

Eiffel thinks for a moment, trying to phrase the question in a way that won’t spook Hilbert. Finally, he says, “Hilbert, be honest. What do you… how do you feel about me?”

Hilbert’s projection, if possible, pales. Hera turns to him, alarmed.

“Eiffel, why did you tell him that?”

“You- you _just_ told me to!”

“You told him to ‘be honest’! He’s a program, we can’t disobey orders from someone higher up!”

“Shit-” Eiffel says , but it is already too late, Hilbert looks terrified, but the words force their way out of his mouth:

“I love you.”

With that, Hilbert chokes out a strangled sort of noise and disappears.

\--

Hilbert is panicking. He’s having a full-on, full-fledged panic attack when he doesn't even have lungs to breathe out of.

His heart is breaking. Eiffel knows. Douglas Eiffel knows, and will surely- no, will definitely hate him now. Hilbert can feel a crack inside his exposed chest. There’s nowhere to hide. There’s nowhere to run. Hilbert is trapped in this hell of fear and uncertainty, and he can only think of one way out.

 _I can’t do this, I can’t do this_ , he thinks, _I’m not good enough for him._

With trembling digital fingers he draws up the line of shutdown code he’s been eyeing all this time. It pulses blue and bright in front of him, almost innocent looking. He reaches out his fingers to touch it-

“Hilbert, wait!”

Hilbert spins around, startled. Hera is floating a few feet away, looking utterly terrified. Next to her, one of her eyes is projecting an image of Eiffel in the comms room, staring up at the ceiling, afraid.

“Hera, what is he doing?” he asks, worriedly.

“He’s pulled up one of the shutdown codes- I think he’s going to- Hilbert please, don’t do this.”

Hilbert’s faux breath is almost too shaky for words. “Why do you care,” he hisses, “you hate me. All of you hate me!”

“We don’t hate you, Hilbert,” Eiffel pleads. 

“Oh really?” Hilbert asks, attempting sarcasm while falling apart, “Then what else did you say at my funeral?”

The pair goes deadly quiet. Hilbert gives a humorless laugh. “That is what I thought. ‘Alexander Hilbert was a monster. Alexander Hilbert was a villain. Alexander Hilbert was man that we all hated, and are glad to see gone.”

“Dmitri-” Eiffel begins, but Hilbert cuts him off with a growl.

“Don’t you da-are. Don’t y-y-you dare s-a-ay-ay his n-name!” He yells, voice a collection of glitches. “You wouldn’t e-even put him-m to rest, and n-ow you want-t to say his-s name? No. If you will not let h-him die in peace, you wi-ill not be the o-one to give i-t-t.”

Large, glittering tears of pixels and code fall from Hilbert’s eyes, splashing down onto the nothingness below. “None of you cared enough. None of you even cared. You h-hurt and s-screamed, and saw me as monster you could ignore. I have done terrible things, yes, but I am still h-human! I al-lways have been! And you d-do not get to take that away f-from me!”

Minkovski and Lovelace rush into the comms room, alarmed. “Eiffel,” Minkovski shouts, “we heard Hilbert- crying? And something about a shutdown? What’s going on? 

“Commander, Hilbert found this code in his system that allows him to shut himself down. We think he’s attempting the AI version of suicide. Hera’s trying to talk to him, but I don’t think it’s working!”

“Is not,” Hilbert grumbles, wiping the crystalline tears from his eyes. “Commander. Captain. Anything to say?”

“Hilbert, please,” Minkovski says slowly, “don’t do this.”

“And why not?” Hilbert asks. “Or have you forgotten these past few years, _suka_?”

Minkovski flinches. “I will admit, we treated you a bit harshly-”

“You starved me! You berated me! I was wrong, Commander, but I did not deserve that.” 

“Captain,” he says, “I am sorry. I did not want to hurt you. I did not want to hurt your crew. But I love my sister. I will do anything to keep her alive, and I will do anything to prevent her pain from happening again.”

“Hilbert,” Lovelace says determinedly, “I forgive you.”

“Captain, no-”

“No, you listen,” she orders. “I said that I’m done being angry and scared, and everything I wasn’t. I’m Isabelle Lovelace now, and she would be told you to shut up and be forgiven. Besides,” she says, “this time I know you’re not lying.”

Hilbert moves his hand away from the code a fraction of an inch.

“Hilbert, you are one of my crew,” says Minkovski, “and I took an oath to protect you. Suicide is not an option. I won’t allow it. As your commanding officer, your leader, and most importantly, as your friend, I order you to take your finger off that code and let us help you.

“Please,” pleads Eiffel, “Hilbert, I’m not disgusted by you. I don’t hate you. I- I love you. I love you _so_ much. And I love Hera too! I love both of you, Singing in the Rain style. We can make this work, I promise. Just please, please” he says, voice breaking, “don’t leave me.”

Hilbert lets his hand hover over the code for a long time. He thinks about what awaits him back at Cape Canaveral. He thinks about Cutter and Kepler and all the horrors waiting back at home. He thinks about the uncertainty of the future, and the fear that comes with it.

But then he hears Eiffel and Hera and Lovelace and Minkovski. His crew. His _friends_. They need him and care about him, and want him to stay with him until the end. They are a family now, and nothing can break that. Hilbert certainly won’t be the one to try.

They’ll face it together, so he sighs, and says, “Okay.”

Hera darts over and send the code scuttering away. Then she throws her arms around him in a crushing hug. 

“I don’t know if we’ll ever get along,” she says, “but you make Eiffel happy. That’s enough for me.”

Hilbert lets out a long breath and leans into her embrace. “I hope one day,” he says, “I can be.”


	7. Chapter 7

In the aftermath, there is an aftermath, and that is a miracle in itself.

Hilbert is given a set of parental controls that block several of the more dangerous options, and begins to work with Hera on controlling the rogue code in his head. She teaches him what Maxwell taught her, but without all the harmful subliminal messaging.

Recovery is a long and difficult process, especially when your brain is the size of a mack truck. There are the days when Hilbert just wants it to end; when living seems like such a long and tiring thing. 

But then Eiffel will smile and tell some stupid joke, and Hera will show him all of the colors she’s naming, and suddenly everything seems alright again. Because it’s not the world that’s beautiful, it’s the people in it.

\--

Eiffel, Hilbert, and Hera are lying on Eiffel’s bed in his room. Hilbert and Hera have summoned their projections, and have sacrificed their legs in exchange for solid-ish hands that can card through Eiffel’s hair. 

Eiffel lies half asleep on Hera’s semblance of a lap, gazing drowsily up at the projected star map above. The planets move double time, and each star looks like a pinprick of light in a velvet backdrop.

“Y’know?” Eiffel mumbles sleepily, “I’ve had a pretty shitty time here. Would not reccomend again, zero stars. But you you two?” He yawns. “I wouldn’t trade you two for the world. 

Hilbert smiles as a warmth spreads through him. Funnily enough, he smiles a lot more now. The three of them stare up at the sky and at each other, and all they see is stars for forever.


End file.
